My fingertips brushed the cold metal of the brass latch. The Cole Dynamics briefcase sat heavy on Vanessa's designer suitcase.
Adrian tensed. His hand shot out, his large fingers clamping around my wrist like a vice.
"Don't touch that," he ordered.
"Are you afraid I will open it?" I asked, staring at his knuckles turning white against my coat sleeve.
"Security is already walking over," he warned, his voice dropping into a harsh rasp. "You are making a fool of yourself."
Vanessa scoffed from behind him, crossing her arms. "She probably wants to steal your quarterly reports. God, you are pathetic."
I didn't argue. I didn't rip my arm away. Instead, I let my fingers slip off the brass latch.
"Let go of me," I said.
Adrian didn't move. His grip remained tight, his dark eyes searching my face for the hysterical tears he clearly expected to find.
"I said, let go."
He released my wrist. I took a slow step backward. The anger in his expression faltered, replaced by a sudden, jarring flash of astonishment. He thought I would scream. He thought I would claw at his expensive suit and beg him to remember the four years we spent hiding in his apartment.
My retreat confused him.
"Keep the briefcase, Adrian," I told him, my tone dead flat. "You are going to need it."
I turned my back on him and walked toward the sliding glass exit doors. I didn't look over my shoulder.
Forty minutes later, I unlocked the deadbolt to my apartment. The cramped living room smelled of stale air and cheap pine cleaner.
I walked straight to the small wooden desk in the corner, bypassing the coat rack entirely. I pulled the bottom drawer open.
The manila envelope sat exactly where I left it.
I dumped the contents onto the scratched wooden surface. Dozens of bank transfer receipts and supplier advance vouchers scattered across the desk. Three years ago, the Cole Dynamics supply chain collapsed. Adrian was facing immediate termination. I drained my personal accounts and wired four hundred and eighty thousand dollars to keep the assembly lines moving.
I picked up the top receipt. I scanned the payer information.
Blank.
I grabbed the next one. Blank.
Not a single page bore my name. I assumed all the financial risk, and Adrian took all the credit.
My phone vibrated against the wood. A text from Grace illuminated the screen.
Did he really shout that in front of everyone?
I picked up the device and typed a single letter. Y.
Before I could hit send, the screen switched to an incoming call. I swiped to answer and put it on speaker, dropping the phone back onto the desk.
"Tell me you slapped him," Grace demanded. Her voice echoed off my bare walls.
"I didn't touch him," I replied, sorting the receipts into a neat stack. "He told the entire terminal I was a desperate stalker who took advantage of him while he was drunk."
Grace cursed loudly. "I am driving to his condo right now. I am going to key that matte-black Porsche until the doors fall off."
"Don't bother," I said. "He isn't going home alone tonight."
A heavy pause filled the line. "Vanessa Pierce?"
"He was stroking her hair at the luggage claim. He shielded her from me when I walked up."
"Zoe, you gave him everything." Grace's tone shifted from furious to horrified. "You hid in the shadows for four years so he wouldn't violate the company fraternization policy. You paid his debts."
"I am looking at the vouchers right now," I told her, tracing the edge of the paper. "Four hundred and eighty grand. My money."
"Take them to the board. Expose him."
"I can't. My name isn't on the transfer documents. He made sure of it."
"He planned this," Grace said, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "He used you to get the senior director promotion, and now he is throwing you away for the CEO's niece."
I reached into the empty manila envelope. My fingers brushed against a thick, folded packet stuck at the very bottom. I pulled it free and smoothed it out on the desk.
"I have the bond contract," I said.
"The convertible bond from the supplier bailout?"
"Yes. But the signature line is completely blank."
"Zoe, without a signature, that piece of paper is worthless in court. He robbed you."
I stared at the empty black line at the bottom of the page. Adrian thought he was untouchable. He thought I was just a naive temp who would quietly disappear into the background, too ashamed to fight back.
The retreat at the airport was not a surrender. It was a recalibration.
"He thinks I am going to cry and move on," I said, my voice hardening.
"What are you going to do?"
"I am going to make him pay for every single cent."
A sharp, violent wave of nausea hit my stomach.
The room spun. I clamped a hand over my mouth, the taste of copper flooding my tongue.
"Zoe?" Grace asked. "Are you crying?"
"I have to go," I choked out.
I slammed my finger onto the red button on the screen and bolted for the bathroom.
I hit the tile floor hard, gripping the porcelain edges of the toilet as my stomach emptied itself. My chest heaved. The cold air stung my watering eyes. I stayed there for several minutes, waiting for the violent rolling in my gut to subside.
Finally, I pushed myself up. My legs shook as I moved to the sink.
I turned on the cold water and splashed my face. Drops of water slid down my cheeks, soaking the collar of my stiff white shirt. The bite mark on my collarbone throbbed, a brutal reminder of the man who had just discarded me in front of a crowd.
I reached for a towel.
My elbow knocked against the small wicker trash can beside the sink. I glanced down.
A torn cardboard box rested at the top of the garbage pile. Yesterday, it had been sealed inside a pharmacy bag. Now, the flap was ripped open.
My gaze shot to the bathroom counter.
Resting flat on the fake marble surface, right next to my toothbrush, was a plastic pregnancy test.
Two sharp pink lines were glowing in the center window.
